


Leather

by juanagalan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, John gets messy, Leather Fetish, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sherlock is a pervert, Tea, The riding crop from season one, Ugly Jumpers, accidental urination, bottom!John, excessive blushing, excessive saliva, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juanagalan/pseuds/juanagalan
Summary: PWP where Sherlock goes undercover and John realises he has a leather fetish





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pure unadulterated gratuitous Johnlock porn!
> 
> This is written in the third person, largely from John's perspective
> 
> I've decided Sherlock is more of a smoker than he is in the series ~~because it's really fucking hot~~
> 
> Also tea = plot device
> 
> PS: check out Tom of Finland to get an idea for Sherlock's outfit

"Uh Sherlock?"  
   
The look on John's face is priceless. He's stood frozen in the doorway of the living room, wearing one of his typical ugly jumpers and clutching onto two freshly made cups of tea.  
   
Having heard the front door slam shut moments before, followed by hurried footsteps up the staircase and the click of Sherlock's bedroom door close, John took it upon himself to make them both a cuppa each. _It's going to be one of those evenings_ , he thought. Letting out a mildly exasperated sigh, he set about putting the kettle on. But what he was presented with in the living room was far beyond what he had anticipated.  
   
"What do you think?", murmured Sherlock.  
   
He hadn't even noticed the other man appear from his room whilst John was making the tea. He'd nipped out into the hallway with the intention of gently knocking on Sherlock’s bedroom door, hoping to offer a mug as a means of placating his flatmate. Having noticed through the crack of the open door that he was no longer in his room, John made his way to the living room, where he was now struggling to find any air to fill his lungs.  
   
The smaller man let out a small splutter of a noise at the question. He felt like his raised eyebrows were almost touching the ceiling. He must have looked pale because an expression of concern suddenly appeared on Sherlock's face.  
   
"Problem?", he pressed again.  
   
"Ah, no!", John finally managed, trying to shake himself out of whatever had come over him. To be fair though, it's not every day one sees the infamous Sherlock Holmes dressed head-to-toe in leather. "Actually...", he began, but hesitated. _What the hell is this?_ , his brain offered. But his mouth went with "What's the occasion then?" instead.  
   
The detective's expression dropped a little, but the look was gone the moment it had appeared. This only served to confuse John further, but he brushed the feeling aside. Sherlock almost snapped his response.  
   
"It's for a case, John", as if to state the obvious. _Of course_ , averting his gaze, John blushed. The colour in his cheeks grew when he noticed the riding crop tucked neatly down the inside of his flatmate's long black leather riding boots. He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. Sherlock however had been observing John's reaction closely.  
   
"I need to blend in", he offered calmly, turning his face towards the mirror at the opposite end of the room to readjust the lapels of his black leather biker jacket. With his body half turned away from where John was still gawping, his eyes inadvertently flicked downwards to take in the way those leather trousers rather nicely framed Sherlock's behind.  
   
That last thought was enough to shake John out of his reverie. He was suddenly painfully aware that his face was sporting a warm shade of crimson and that his trousers were feeling a lot tighter than usual. _I wonder how tight those leather ones are though_. He shooed away the thought as soon as it had entered his mind, before stealing another glance at Sherlock. The embarrassment that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming; he had to forcibly will himself into moving from the doorway of the living room. Placing the two cups of tea down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, he almost collapsed into it as he sat down, letting out a loud sigh. It was then that the detective swivelled round, as if to reveal his new outfit.  
   
"Convincing?" He continued to probe.  
   
"How should I know?" John had unwillingly blurted out his response, his face still red from the sight of his flatmate. "I'm not so sure I've ever even seen a leather daddy in the flesh before..."  
   
"What makes you think I would be the daddy"?  
   
John gulped at that. Sherlock continued.  
   
"Regardless, I am infiltrating a gay club in Soho tonight. Lestrade says my target should be there also. I doubt I'll have any difficulty in persuading him into giving me the information I require". He straightened out his sleeves as he spoke.  
   
"Target?", John breathed. _Persuading?_ , his thoughts asked, eyes flitting back to the riding crop. His mind exploded in a flurry of obscene images involving his flatmate in this loud, hot and dark crowded club, teaming with other leather-clad men. John forced it all out of his brain and attempted to focus on the situation at hand, keeping his eyes level with Sherlock's.  
   
"Yes", came the other man's curt response. He glanced down from his nose at the tea. "I'll be leaving shortly".  
   
"Oh am I not coming with you?" The question sounded a lot sillier out loud than it did in his head, causing John to squirm uncomfortably when Sherlock's eyes flew back from the tea to focus on him.  
   
"I didn't think it would really be your... _scene_ , John." John let out a small huff of relief that was subconsciously tinged with a hint of regret. "I won't be back until the early hours of tomorrow morning. Eat something and get some sleep."  
   
The smaller man nodded numbly in agreement; his eyes were now staring at the caps of his flatmate's shiny black boots. He felt his body go a little limp. _What is wrong with me?_  It was then that Sherlock crossed over to the desk to grab a soft black leather cap, placing it firmly over his dark curls, while at the same time, removing a pair of fingerless studded black leather gloves from his jacket pocket. As he delicately placed them on each hand, John couldn't help his eyes from widening at the sight of the complete look.  
   
Sherlock trotted off out of the room and down the hallway. "Don't wait up!", he called back, as he flew down the staircase and out of the flat, presumably into the waiting cab outside.  
   
John blinked several times before placing his head in his hands, letting out the air he didn't know he'd been holding in. "Fuck", he whispered. The two cups of tea were now lukewarm. John strode towards the cabinet at the other end of the room and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.  
   
-  
   
John let out a small yawn as he softly flopped down the stairs from his room. It was late, maybe two or three in the morning? He wasn't sure. He was still half asleep and needing to piss. However he faltered when the smell of cigarette smoke reached his nose, which he wrinkled in response. Attempting to blink himself awake, he made for the living room where he found Sherlock slumped in his armchair. His leather jacket and flat cap had been left discarded carelessly on the floor beside him, revealing the almost skin tight white cotton t-shirt underneath. John gulped, leaning awkwardly against the door frame of the entrance to the room. They both remained perfectly still for nearly a minute, the blonde haired man watching the brunette expectantly. Sherlock's eyes were hooded and fixed on the floor in front of him, as if his mind were elsewhere.  
   
When words finally escaped from his lips, the sound was so foreign to the previous intense silence that it caused John to flinch. "Did I wake you?"  
   
"No..."  
   
"Hmph". He took a long drag from his cigarette, holding his gaze with the floor. The doctor felt compelled to stay as still as possible.  
   
"How'd it go?"  
   
This time the detective finally broke his staring match with the floorboards under his boots. "Hm?"  
   
"I said how did it go. At the club."  
   
"Ah. Fine."  
   
The thick silence descended upon the room once more. John shuffled his feet in response. He decided to break the silence this time.  
   
"Tea?"  
   
Sherlock blinked, which John took as a yes. He retreated away from the door frame, through the hall and into the kitchen. The living room felt too tense for him to enter.  
   
He didn't notice his flatmate was behind him as he was reaching for the tea at the top of the cupboard. "Fucks sake", John whispered to himself, as he stretched upwards on his toes, his grey t-shirt riding up slightly. He almost leapt through the ceiling when he felt leather-clad hands touch the now exposed sides of his hips.  
   
He just about managed to stifle a squeak, but his voice was shaky. "Sherlock, what-", he was cut off by the body behind him pressing him forwards into the kitchen counter, causing the shorter man to throw his arms forward so as to prevent his face from connecting with the cupboard in front. One of the leather hands was removed from his side to push at the middle of his shoulders, leaving him pressed up against and bent over the counter. He was about to protest when he felt the press of a bulge against his arse cheeks. A loud gasp was forced from him as his face flushed a rosy shade of pink.  
   
The thin light material of John's navy coloured boxers made for a stark contrast to the thick leather that enveloped Sherlock's crotch. It took a few seconds for the doctor to realise how exposed and vulnerable he felt, but he dare not move. Frozen like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, he remained perfectly still. All that could be heard was his shallow breathing. His breath hitched when he felt a leather hand begin to snake its way towards the front of his boxers.  
   
It suddenly dawned on him that he had originally come downstairs to use the bathroom and that his bladder was now feeling uncomfortably full. "Don't-", John managed, before the hand was shoved into his boxers, grabbing onto John's limp member. As if snapped out of a trance, he suddenly thrashed out of Sherlock's grip, twisting away and throwing back an elbow. The dark haired man dodged the blow intended to connect with his sternum, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it from hitting him in the side of the ribs. However he did not falter nor hesitate to land a punch into John's stomach, growling as he did so and consequently winding him in the process. John's eyes widened as he clutched at his gut, more from shock than pain. He didn't notice Sherlock take a couple of slow steps back.  
   
"Oh...". His flatmate's cheeks were a little flushed.  
   
John looked up, somewhat dazed. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion when he noticed Sherlock wasn't looking at his face, but at the lower half of his body. He followed his line of sight and, to his horror, realised he had wet himself. The adrenaline rush from their scuffle and the gut punch must've forced it out of him without him realising. The smaller man could feel his face burn in embarrassment - he felt utterly mortified.  
   
"I suppose you ought to remove those then". John's head snapped up. It was the most he'd heard his flatmate say since he found him downstairs that morning. He blinked a couple of times, nervously darting out his tongue to wet his lips. There was a rage brewing deep within him that he was unsure exactly what he should do with. Sherlock let out a small _tsk_ before crossing the space between them, forcing John back into the counter again. It pressed uncomfortably against the small of his back as the dark haired man trapped him there with his hands on either side of him. He spoke again, only this time his lips were pressed against John's ear, "Or perhaps I should tear them off you instead". And with that, he took the back his head in one of his hands, gently tugging at his blonde hair so as to expose his neck. Before John had enough time to react, Sherlock placed his tongue at the space just above his collarbone and licked upwards to the edge of his jawline.   
   
He shuddered. _Where the fuck has this all come from?_ , his head was screaming at him, but John's cock had become undoubtedly hard. He'd wanted this for so long. Each day had been utter torture for him, longing for the attention of his flatmate, convincing himself over and over that it was never meant to be. Hundreds, if not thousands of indecent thoughts permeated his mind, day in day out. There were so many things he wanted to do to the man whose body was pressed up against his, but now that it was finally happening, he could only manage a whimper.  
   
Sherlock grabbed John's aching erection through the cotton of his still damp boxers, smirking at the mess he'd made. "Did I scare you?", he prodded mockingly.   
   
The doctor's fury returned. "Fuck you", only his words were barely audible, as the detective was slowly leaning his face closer to that of John's. It was then that Sherlock softly planted a tender kiss on his lips.  
   
Sherlock's mouth felt dry to that of John's, but this only served to excite the blonde more. Feeling brave, he arched his body into Sherlock whilst cautiously reaching up to feed his shaking fingers through his hair. It felt thick with dried sweat, probably from his expedition at the club a few hours before. The shorter man tugged his head a little further forward in an attempt to deepen their kiss. This was welcomed enthusiastically, with Sherlock's tongue now forcing its way into his mouth, exploring fervently. A loud yet muffled moan escaped from John and before he knew it, Sherlock had roughly grabbed him by the waist, lifting him up and sitting him on the kitchen counter. Yanking down his soaked underwear, he tossed it behind him, causing them to create a noisy splat when they hit the floor. Under other circumstances, John would've laughed. This however was a very different set of circumstances indeed. He blushed hard and averted his eyes. The dark haired man flashed him a toothy grin, "Blushing suits you. I should make you wet yourself more often".  
   
John shot him a dangerous look, “You’re going to want to shut up right about now, Sherlock.” His knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter hard.  
   
And with that, Sherlock’s grin vanished. A serious borderline threatening expression descended upon his features as he retorted, “Really, John. I don’t think you’re quite in the position to be making such demands. Do you?”  
   
As he opened his mouth with the intention of hurling a cascade of obscenities at his arrogant flatmate, his thighs were suddenly forced upward, his calves balanced on either side of Sherlock’s shoulders, with his body forcibly dragged towards the detective so that his entrance met with the bulge in his trousers. John yelped in response, scrambling at the counter so as not to lose his balance. The back of his head was pressing uncomfortably against the cupboard as he was contorted under Sherlock’s harsh grip. He hissed through gritted teeth as the taller man dug his nails into the underside of John’s thighs, sending a shiver through the entirety of his body. John’s breaths became pants as he attempted to adjust himself on his elbows, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. He glanced up at his flatmate only to realise that he had been eyeing up John’s cock this entire time. His erection was throbbing at this point, aching to be touched and leaking pre-cum onto his own shirt-clad belly. The detective let out a small yet dark chuckle, “You’re rather the messy one, aren’t you?” But before the doctor had time enough to blink, Sherlock’s hand darted out to roughly squeeze at the base of John’s dick, eliciting a surprised shout in response. The dark haired man began working his hand up and down John’s shaft, ignoring the tender wet tip. The iron-like grip and lack of lubrication caused him to shift uncomfortably, a small whine emanating from his parted lips.  
   
Sherlock painfully yanked John’s cock in the direction of his face and held it there. The blonde looked down from his nose at himself; each second feeling all the more crushed from the awkward position the other man had placed him in. He cautiously looked up at Sherlock, as if expecting some sort of command. He was presented with exactly that, “Spit.”, he barked.  
   
John frowned. “Wh-what?” He stammered incredulously.  
   
That same animalistic look from before shot across Sherlock’s face, “Shall I spit on your dick for you?” The retort was near growled.  
   
“No stop wait!”, John rushed, the blush on his face growing more by the minute. The very thought of spitting on his own erection in front of the man he had wanted for so long only served to cause his cheeks to become more red. Nevertheless, he strained his neck forwards as much as he possibly could, gathering as much saliva in his mouth as he could muster. However he faltered when he made the mistake of chancing a glimpse at the other man’s face, to which he was met with an expression of both wonder and lust. He must’ve visibly hesitated as Sherlock sulkily huffed when their eyes made contact. “For goodness sake John, am I going to have to make you spit for me?” His fingers were then immediately pressed on either side of John’s cheeks, forcing his lips into an awkward shape. The smell of his own musk on Sherlock’s fingers made him crinkle his nose and squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment. He attempted to shake his head loose of Sherlock’s hold, but the detective was having none of it. That was until a long thick line of drool fell from John’s contorted lips and pooled his chest.  
   
“Ah ha!”, exclaimed Sherlock triumphantly. Using his other hand, he mopped up what he could find of John’s spit and crudely used it to lube the doctor's still aching cock.  
   
“Mmph!”, was all he could manage, with his flatmate’s hand still firmly holding his cheeks. He grumbled some more as Sherlock began to pump his throbbing member, twisting and arching himself in an effort to seek out a more comfortable position for his body. The leather of the gloves felt oddly pleasurable against his sensitive skin. He moaned loudly when the leather-clad hand encircled the sensitive head of his cock. Sherlock purred approvingly at John’s response, “I thought you might enjoy the gloves.”  
   
He barely had enough time to process what the other man meant by that comment, when he removed his now saliva covered fingers from John’s face, pressing against the blonde's entrance. His body instinctively flinched away. “Lube...!”, he gasped as one of Sherlock’s fingers traced the outside of his hole. He threw a pleading look at the detective and was met with an expression of indecision, as if Sherlock wanted to make yet another smug comment, but also wanted to cradle John softly in his arms. He removed his hand from his entrance to briefly fumble in the back pocket of his leather trousers. He soon produced a small unmarked bottle of clear liquid, popping it open with his nimble fingers and expertly emptying a sizeable globule into the palm of his hand. John would’ve remarked on Sherlock’s ability to do all this one handed, but he was distracted by the other hand that was teasingly working the head of his cock. His mind was abruptly brought back into the room with the sound of the bottle hitting the floorboards, as Sherlock flippantly tossed it out of his hand. He then returned it to John’s entrance, pressing his lube slick palm into him. “It’s cold…”, murmured John. The glare Sherlock shot at him made him realise that he had said this out loud. He firmly pressed his lips closed only to throw them wide open as he felt a fingertip push into him.  
   
“First time?” John gave Sherlock a quick sharp nod in response, squeezing his eyes shut. Sherlock hummed thoughtfully to himself as he continued to carefully press into the smaller man. John drew in a breath, terror and arousal coursing through him all the same. It took him by complete surprise when he felt a sudden wetness envelope the head of his cock. He cracked one of his eyes open and was met with the image of his flatmate having taken his cock into his mouth. At first, he was merely teased by his tongue lapping at his tender head, but it was enough to send a warm fuzzy light-headed feeling throughout his entire being. A low long moan was produced from deep within him as Sherlock gently sucked on his tip whilst simultaneously pushing his finger deeper inside. He wanted to writhe under his touch, but due to the position his body had been made to endure, he held himself as still as possible. All he could do was blush, whine and leak into Sherlock's mouth.

The dark haired man teased his cock and entrance for what felt like hours and John savoured every second of it, not wanting to climax and thus break the spell. As his mind began to drift and ponder how long he could keep this up for, Sherlock's head suddenly jolted downwards to the base of his dick, hitting the back of his throat. The blonde's shout of surprise soon turned into a groan as his flatmate began to bob his head up and down, taking every inch of his member into his mouth. He could feel Sherlock's finger press deeper and deeper into him with each stroke of his cock. The unusual feeling of being penetrated made John want to squirm, but he felt physically and mentally drained, allowing himself to be probed by his flatmate. 

When the finger connected with his prostate, he eyes flew open as a shock was sent through his body, causing him to inadvertently smack the back of his head against the cupboard. Sherlock chuckled, which John both heard and felt vibrate around his dick. His finger stroked his prostrate again and again with relentless repetition. An incoherent string of sounds escaped from John, eventually forming words, "Sh-Sherlock, I can't, I'm going to, ah fuck-!" And as his entrance instinctively tightened around Sherlock's finger, the dark haired man removed his mouth from John's cock in favour of pumping him mercilessly. John cried out as he came in long spurts all over his chest, a couple of drops landing on his face. He puffed as his head swam in a sea of dazed thoughts, barely registering his flatmate remove his finger from inside him. The other hand was used to gently wipe away John's own cum from the bottom of his lip followed by another on the side of one of John's cheeks. He remained slumped in a messy heap for a brief moment longer before being pulled forwards into a gentle embrace. "Your shirt...", he murmured, but Sherlock shushed him, pressing John's wet chest into that of his own. The detective held him there, softly stroking John's hair as the doctor sighed into him, relief spreading through his body as he relaxed into his flatmate's tender hold. 

The moment however did not last long. "On your knees." The command felt misplaced and John crooked his head upwards, as if to check whether he had heard him right. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the look, "Do I have to ask you again?" _Bastard_ , he considered voicing his thoughts, but decided against it when he looked down to take in the way the detective's bulge was straining against the leather that confined it. Shakily, he edged himself off the kitchen counter, Sherlock's hands guiding him as his feet touched the floor. Wobbling slightly, he eventually regained his balance and straightened out his spine. Before his body was given the chance to fully appreciate no longer being forced into an uncomfortable position, he felt a hand press downwards with a gentle force on his good shoulder, reminding him of the task ahead. He locked eyes with Sherlock and they held each other's gaze as he wordlessly lowered himself onto his knees. 

"Have you done this before?", breathed the detective, his hands were hurriedly undoing the buttons of his trousers. John slowly shook his head, watching Sherlock's hands attentively. His cock sprang forwards as he undid the last button, nearly touching the end of John's nose. He froze for a moment; realisation dawning on him that he had no idea how to fellate another man. A sudden twist presented itself in his gut as his mind raced, _What if it tastes bad? What if I'm not very good? What if I hurt him or myself? What if-_ and then Sherlock’s hands were fisted in his hair, yanking him forwards. He opened his mouth in a lame attempt to try to take the dark haired man in, but the suddenness of the movement caused his cock to deflect off of the side of John's parted lips, spreading pre-cum across his cheek. John whimpered as Sherlock growled, pulling his face away from his crotch. Realigning him by the strands of blonde hair on his head, he pulled him forward again, only it was much slower this time, if not painfully slower.

"Wider", Sherlock murmured. John followed orders obediently as the other man languidly inserted his cock into his mouth, taking pleasure in the way the shorter man's damp tongue ran along the underside of his shaft. He didn't hesitate to push further still, his tip touching the back of John's throat, causing him to choke. "Relax", purred Sherlock, pushing the back of John's head into him so his lips were at the base of his dick. John was about to wriggle away when his hands met the leather of his flatmate's trousers. Suddenly the need to breathe was of far less importance as he revelled in the softness of the lambs skin under his fingertips. It was then that the smell of leather hit John's nostrils, alongside that of Sherlock's scent and the combination of the two drove him wild. Wanting to take more of the detective in, his hands reached his backside and pushed into him. Sherlock hissed and regretfully began to withdraw himself. The doctor gasped and then coughed as the entrance to his windpipe was unblocked, thin trails of saliva mixed with pre-cum dripping from his mouth. As he began to inhale, the detective pushed his head forward again to repeat the same action as before. John moaned gratefully around his flatmate's cock as it made its way into him. He gripped onto Sherlock's leather-clad arse cheeks in anticipation as the taller man thrust into his mouth four or five more times before ejaculating down his throat. John winced as Sherlock came, his pained expression growing as the detective pulled him by his hair, angling his head so as to make eye contact with one another again. "Swallow", he panted, hunched over John. But he had already begun to do so, his eyelids fluttering nervously. Sherlock let out a long sigh and relaxed his grip, slowly moving away from the smaller man who now felt somewhat abandoned by the sudden distance between them. Quirking an eyebrow, he pointed downwards, "Now kiss my boots."

John frowned, "How about you go fuck yourself instead?"

There was a moment of intense silence. It was broken by the sounds of them both erupting into a fit of giggles. 

"Come to bed?", offered Sherlock, turning his body towards the doorway.

"Gladly", John snorted, as he struggled to pull himself up from off the floor. Sherlock extended a hand, which he accepted gratefully.

-

John was sipping on a cup of tea, flicking through an old newspaper as he hummed happily in his armchair. Sherlock was pottering about in the kitchen when Lestrade almost burst into the living room.

"Where is he?", he panted. He must've flown up the staircase just now.

The smaller man didn't even bother to look up, let alone greet the other detective. He just casually nodded his head back towards the kitchen behind him. Lestrade was about to cross the room when Sherlock entered.

"What is it?"

"The station. We need you. If you're free?" He was still trying to catch his breath.

"Urgent?"

The silver haired gave a weak nod, gasping a little less now.

"You really should quit the smoking, Gordon", Sherlock teased.

"Greg", uttered John from behind his newspaper.

Lestrade pointed at John, nodding as he did so. Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling out a cigarette from an ornate metal case that was sat on his desk and lit it with a match. The other detective groaned, "You bastard, you know I'm trying to quit!"

"You are?" He knew all too well that his colleague had been attempting to give up for a while now. John smirked at his flatmate's arrogance as Sherlock blew a cloud of smoke at the older man. He waved it away, glaring at Sherlock as he did so.

"So are you coming to the station or not?" He demanded irritably. 

"I'll grab my coat" And with that, he exited the room, heading for that of his own. Lestrade sighed, pinching the middle of his eyebrows in exasperation. 

John peaked over the top of his paper, "Is this about the Soho case?"

"The what?" 

"The Soho case. Sherlock went out last night. Said you had a lead for him."

The silver haired man momentarily furrowed his brow, his mouth then forming an amused smirk, "So he spent the evening in Soho then, did he?" 

John realised the other man's eyes were now focused on the riding crop that had been left abandoned on top of the desk. He blushed as his confusion grew. He was about to question Lestrade further when Sherlock poked his head back into the room. "Ready when you are, George."

"Greg...!", he stomped out and headed for the staircase. As he did so, Sherlock managed to catch John's eyes, giving him a cheeky wink.

"Don't wait up." Flashing him a quick grin, he turned to follow the other detective out the door. 

John blinked several times. Confusion blooming in his mind. _What did Lestrade mean when he said..._ , his thoughts trailed off as he tossed his newspaper aside, crossing the room to the desk to throw open his laptop. Stuck to the screen was a bright yellow post-it note with his flatmate's handwriting scrawled across it. John cursed under his breath at Sherlock's blatant disregard for his property. Plucking the post-it off the screen, he wished the detective would stop using his things, but his thoughts froze as he began to read the note Sherlock had left him:

_You really ought to delete your internet browser history. Although I did rather enjoy perusing through your rather extensive collection of leather pornography. May I suggest incognito mode next time? - **SH** _

"Son of a bitch!"


End file.
